


si vis amari ama

by Keibey



Category: Aldnoah.Zero (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, M/M, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-28
Updated: 2017-01-28
Packaged: 2018-09-19 19:33:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9457478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Keibey/pseuds/Keibey
Summary: It was a strange arrangement – Slaine couldn’t figure out what Inaho could possibly gain from being Slaine’s only victim. He couldn’t understand, but he kept going back.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is a rewrite of my Helloween fic for the [inahoXSlaine Anthology](http://www.orangebat-sanctuary.com/)! Thank you so much Rosiel, for being so kind and making this project possible!
> 
> | si vis amari ama – if you want to be loved, love |

The door opened and Slaine was greeted with the muzzle of a pistol right in his face. Inaho tipped his head to the side, the brown eyes flicking quickly up and down his frame – Slaine knew he looked miserable, completely drenched from head to toe and yet throat parched like he hadn’t seen water for weeks. Inaho uncocked the gun and lowered it. “You’re late.”

Slaine looked away; he couldn’t exactly say _I didn’t want to be reminded that I’m a monster_ when his throat stung like salt on an open wound every day. “I was busy.” 

He could feel the weight of Inaho’s gaze, but the brunet just wordlessly stepped aside to let him in. For a moment, Slaine stood there awkwardly, watching Inaho leave the pistol on the table and take off the heavy coat. The room looked exactly the same as the last time he had been there: a bed against one wall, a stove in the corner, a chest of drawers forced to make neighbours with the only table. It didn’t surprise him that the hideout had stayed so well hidden.

His wandering gaze landed on Inaho, seated on the lone chair, and the brunet gave him one of those unreadable looks. It was easier to just turn his face away; Slaine peeled off his dripping coat and cravat, leaving them unceremoniously on the ground. He moved forward with cautious, sheepish steps, and stopped beside the chair.

He didn’t flinch at the glint of the knife when Inaho drew it, but he tensed, watching the brunet casually roll back the sleeve of his left arm. The scars on the skin was faint, thin and pale, but to Slaine they were unmissable. The knife drew closer and closer to the webbing of scars, and he bit his lip in familiar unease.

Slaine grabbed the blade with a too quick hand, the slip in his desperate grip on humanity only reminding him that he shouldn’t have put this off. Inaho gave him a questioning look. He had to swallow before he could find his voice. “Don’t be so barbaric.”

“I hope you’re aware of the irony,” Inaho said, deadpan.

 _Of course. How could he possibly forget what he was?_ “Yes,” he answered tersely, putting down the knife. He watched his wounds close sluggishly, knitting together without so much as a scar. He reached out – _slower, slower_ – and gently took the brunet’s wrist with his right hand. “Let me.” Pushing back the sleeve with his other, he carefully gripped Inaho’s elbow and sunk onto his knees in front of the brunet.

Inaho never made him beg, but he knelt so readily anyway.

Slaine turned the arm in his hold gingerly and leaned in. The moment his lips touched the delicate skin of the inner wrist, he nearly choked on the intense feral urge to bite down, and he jerked back sharply, pulling in ragged breaths to clear his head and only succeeding in filling his lungs with a sweet, heady scent. He glanced up through his lashes uncertainly, catching Inaho’s gaze.

Intense, but not scared. Curious, but not disgusted.

Slowly, Slaine brought his mouth to the vulnerable skin again, more ready for the burning instinct this time as he parted his lips carefully. He eased his teeth in quickly and pushed away the urge to tear, to make the blood pour out with each pump of the heart, rabbit fast. He tried to ignore the way Inaho’s breath caught as he pulled his fangs out; it had to be less painful than a knife.

Then the first drops of blood hit his tongue, and he couldn’t think at all.

It was hot and sweet, so _sweet_ , soothing his parched throat, and Slaine let out a low groan. He swallowed and pressed his tongue against the wound, humming lowly as more pooled into his mouth. His eyes closed as a shiver pleasantly slipped down his spine, dimly aware he had to be gentle – _gentle_ – through the haze. Fingers threaded into his hair as he lapped, pushed them out of his face as he swallowed, tangled into the mess as he coaxed. His breath came as shallow puffs, the intoxicating scent filling his nose.

A trickle of blood escaped the corner of his mouth and ran down along the unmarked skin, and Slaine moved to lap it up eagerly. The slightly salty taste of skin was stronger with this swipe of his tongue, and its mingling with the sweet tang of blood made an addicting mix. He slowed down to savour it, shifting the arm to direct the blood towards the crook of the elbow, catching the beads of blood with his tongue.

“Slaine.”

The breathy whisper barely registered over the thumping beat of his pulse in his ears. The fingers in his hair tightened when he sucked on the patch of pale skin inside the elbow, watching the blood flush prettily under. The nails scraped lightly against his scalp as he reverently licked down his canvas, feeling the hand in his hold flex with the movements of his mouth.

“ _Slaine_.”

He felt the arm tug against his grip, and he made a possessive noise deep in his throat, opening his eyes to glare up.

Instantly he froze.

The uncharacteristic slash of red across the bridge of Inaho’s nose, the wide pupils that left only a ring of brown, the quick breaths matching the racing heartbeat under his fingers – a different kind of hunger made his throat dry and his stomach coil.

His lips were still connected by a string of silva when he jerked back, face heated with mortification and something else entirely. He tried to come up with words, but his mind was still snagged on the picture before him, and he kept dumbly staring with his mouth parted.

He made a quiet noise when he felt Inaho hold his chin, tipping his face up. A thumb ran along his bottom lip, breaking the strand of wetness, and he stared wide-eyed into the brunet’s face, the charged moment seeming to stretch forever.

“Did my blood taste good?” Inaho’s warm breath fanned across his cheeks, and Slaine was hit with the sudden realization that they were much closer than they had been before. He licked his lips nervously, watched Inaho follow the movement before pinning him down with a steady gaze.

“Yes,” he replied breathlessly. The hand traced his jaw and then carded in his hair, the warm fingers making him shudder as it rested on the back of his neck and pulled him in, closer and closer. Slaine couldn’t look away.

A hair’s breath away, Inaho stopped, tongue delicately swiping at the corner of Slaine’s mouth. Slaine could hear his heart beating frantically in his chest, his whole body still tense with anticipation. Inaho gave a noncommittal hum, still watching him with dark eyes. “It’s only fair to have you return the favour.”

His body went cold. “I can’t,” he said, terrified, “I can’t–”

“I never said I wanted your blood.” The words fluttered against his lips, and Slaine thought he could see a flicker of amusement in Inaho’s face. “I’m not interested in immortality.”

Inaho leaned in before Slaine could think about that information. The lips were hot and demanding, such a contrast to the normal calm confidence and absolute composure that Slaine’s own control quickly buckled, mouth pliant as he responded fervently. The rapid switch from icy dread to hot arousal was almost dizzying. The hand on his neck trailed down his spine, urging him closer, and Slaine shifted onto his knees, bracing his free hand against Inaho’s thigh to steady himself.  

His touch drew a quiet noise from Inaho. Slaine slid his hand up Inaho’s thigh, pressed closer to slant his mouth at a different angle. He felt the hand on his back glide lower, and his lips parted with a quiet gasped at heat seeping through his wet clothes over the sensitive dip of his spine. A hum of approval from Inaho was followed by a swipe of tongue, and Slaine let him in without resistance.

Brown eyes, dark with desire, watched Slaine as his world became fuzzy around the edges with every slick and knowing slide of Inaho’s tongue against his. His breath quickened, his body began trembling with the sensations. He let go of the warm wrist in his hold to twist his fingers into the soft cotton shirt. Inaho’s name caught in his throat as an unintelligible moan, his lips moving to form the word, and Inaho rewarded him by capturing his lower lip, biting just rough enough for a sliver of pain to work into the pleasure that shot down his spine.

Inaho pulled back, and Slaine bit back a whine, instead letting Inaho tilt his head with a nuzzle. Any objections to the kiss ending disappeared when he felt trailing nips along his jaw. “There’s still the option of walking away.” The words were pressed against his skin in stark contrast, and Slaine wondered who the reminder was for.

“Would you?” he whispered, wishing he could see the brunet’s face.

“No.” The quiet voice hit the shell of his ear, and the hot breath sent responding shudders through his body. Inaho didn’t ask, but Slaine could hear the question as clearly as if Inaho had: _Would you?_ The nuzzling against his neck felt almost chaste. Slaine felt warm wherever they touched. His heart was still beating overtime. The question lingered in the air between them.

Maybe if Slaine had still been human, he would have been strong enough – _good_ enough – to resist. Then he wouldn’t be selfish enough to turn his head, seeking brown eyes. “I won’t either.”

Inaho met him halfway, their lips gliding hotly against each other, slick from their last kiss. He licked tentatively at the seam of Inaho’s mouth, humming low in his throat at the brunet’s quick response, tangling his with the tongue that greeted him. He slid his hand up the rough fabric of Inaho’s trousers, fingers lingering at the creases at Inaho’s hip. The gaze meeting his went half-lidded, predatory. Encouraging. Slaine continued, trailing both hands up the shirt, rucking up the fabric over Inaho’s chest until he could wind his arms around Inaho’s neck.

He felt warm hands reach to undo his vest and shirt in return, pushing the damp fabric aside and making Slaine gasp against the brunet’s mouth with the heat that trailed along their path. They slid purposefully down his sides, diving under the shirt, fingers skimming along the skin right above his trousers. It was a teasing, featherlight touch. “Slaine.” His name was a hot whisper, and just the low tone sent his heart beating faster.

Then Inaho’s fingers hooked the fabric over his hips and down his thighs. Slaine broke the kiss with a quiet keen; he hadn’t realized that he was already half-hard, the cool air and the drag of fabric a sudden shock. “Come here,” Inaho said quietly, sitting back into the chair, and Slaine followed, rising from his knees. The circle of his arms loosened but he never really let go. He could feel appreciative hands run along the back of his thighs to push the fabric down, the touch urging him into Inaho’s lap. There was the wet slap when his clothes hit the floor, but he didn’t spare it another thought, too focused on the brown eyes locked onto his, the burn of the hands that glided back up his legs to rest at his hips.

It made him bold. It made him burn.

Slaine dipped his head down for the open mouth that met his, the electric heat sliding through his body only complimenting the shivers running down his spine. He pressed himself closer, chasing the contact, arms winding tighter around Inaho’s shoulders again.

Inaho was so soft, warm, _human_.

The thought cut through the haze long enough for him to remember – he forced himself to loosen his hold, to unclench his hands from where they were tearing into the back of Inaho’s shirt, moving them to grip his own arms. He couldn’t afford to forget what he was.

Something about the motion made Inaho shift back, an unreadable look in the brown eyes. The seriousness made the hand closing around his cock a complete surprise. Slaine cried out, hands flexing so that his nails tore through his shirt. “Are you alright?” Inaho gave him no time to answer, hand pumping him slowly but with a dirty twist every upstroke. Slaine curled over, pressing his forehead onto Inaho’s shoulder and squeezing his eyes shut. He fought the instincts screaming at him to thrust his hips forward, biting his lip to keep his breaths from coming out as obscene pants.

“You’re horrible,” he choked out when he could breathe again. It still felt like he would unravel without the anchoring pressure against his forehead – opening his eyes and _seeing_ what Inaho was doing to him would make him fall apart.

“Can’t imagine why.” Inaho’s voice was ridiculously steady despite the rushing pulse Slaine could feel against his cheek, the sweat that was starting to bead. Slaine gave a breathless laugh at sheer unfairness of it.

Slaine unwound his arms and scrambled blindly for Inaho’s belt, wrenching the buckle open and probably tearing the leather. His hands were trembling, making him fumble with the ties, but he managed to pull Inaho free. It made Inaho’s breathing catch for the slightest second, and that alone made Slaine feel ridiculously accomplished. He only managed a few uncoordinated jerks before Slaine felt Inaho shift, hips canting forward in a press of skin that was pure, heated sin.

“Inaho.” The name escaped his lips, reverent and wrecked, and even Slaine wasn’t sure if it was a plea or a prayer. Inaho wrapped a hand around them both and resumed the steady, mind numbing rhythm that had Slaine arching back, mouth hanging open in heavy pants. He couldn’t stop his hips from jerking forward in time with the strokes. Inaho took advantage of his bared neck, lips placing open mouth kisses against his skin; it was almost too much, the wet pressure against his neck, the slide of skin against skin creating sweet friction that snaked to curl heavily low in his abdomen.

And yet it wasn’t nearly enough.

The hand still on his hip pushed him back down, kept him from thrusting as the strokes slowed. He whimpered at the loss in friction – he could break the hold so easily, but he couldn’t, wouldn’t. He dropped his head back down, buried it against Inaho’s neck.

“Inaho–” It was the only coherent word against the litany of _more friction, more contact, more_ in his mind. The heat building in his core let him know he was getting close to the edge, but it still wasn’t _enough_. “Inaho, please–”

“Do you want more blood?” The teasing lips were still pressed against the pulse thundering at his neck, the words more felt than heard.

Slaine shook his head, his voice raw and wanting and just a whisper around his heavy panting, “Just want you.”

He felt the hitched breath against his neck, but it did nothing to warn him of the teeth that sunk into the junction of his shoulder. His eyes flew open and he stared unseeingly, whole body rigid, a strangled cry of Inaho’s name on his lips as he came. He trembled in Inaho’s grip as Inaho continued to stroke him through it, the touch on his overstimulated skin blurring the line of pain and pleasure in his mind.

With the slip of a sigh, he slumped bonelessly against Inaho, chest heaving and body shaking in the aftershocks. Slaine felt Inaho’s hand release their softening cocks to languidly trace reverent fingers along his thighs. “Slaine.” He stirred, shifting sluggishly until he could meet Inaho’s eyes. There was something about the way that Inaho looked at him that sent a wave of warmth to chase after the wash of arousal through him. “I want to be inside you.”

The words went straight to his cock, cutting through the blissful afterglow, but all Slaine managed was, “You’re not supposed to just _ask_!”

“Consent between sexual partners–”

“I hope you’re better at that than socializing,” Slaine cut Inaho off, feeling himself grow warm with embarrassment. It was ridiculous how sitting in Inaho’s lap with his shirt half on and cum splattered onto his skin was less mortifying than having the brunet quote from a primer on sexual intercourse.

Inaho hummed noncommittally, leaning in with a voice low and full of promise. “You’ll find out.”

He only managed a noise of surprise when Inaho’s hands halted their absent caressing to grip the back of his thighs, lifting him flush against the warm chest. He felt the table immediately when Inaho guided him back, and for a moment he was almost sure Inaho was going to just tip him onto it. It was ridiculous how he was almost disappointed that Inaho didn’t.

It was also irrationally cold when Inaho stepped away, and he watched the brunet unerringly retrieve a bottle from a drawer. Slaine pulled Inaho close the moment he was in reach, pressing an open mouth kiss against Inaho’s lips. The sound of the cork was white noise against the sweep of Inaho’s tongue, the fragrance of the oil barely noticeable against the heady smell of arousal and sex. The table top was just a hard surface for Inaho to press him against. A tinge of embarrassment wormed through the mess when Inaho hitched his left leg up, leaving him exposed, but it was quickly swept away by the heat spreading through him. The feeling of a slicked finger at his entrance made him shiver, and his quiet moan when it entered him trembled along his tongue.

Inaho seemed as collected as ever, even flushed with arousal and sweat beading across warm skin; Inaho’s finger moved languidly in and out, methodological. It soon had Slaine squirming, the initial discomfort fading quickly to a feeling of _not enough_. His hand skimmed up Inaho’s chest and curled at the warm skin at the nape of Inaho’s neck, his other finding the dip in Inaho’s spine, all to pull them closer.

His squirming turned into an impatient attempt to push back against Inaho’s hand, and Slaine felt Inaho pull away from their messy kiss to huff in amusement. “Don’t tease me.”

“I’m not,” Inaho answered, straightfaced, at the same time Slaine felt a second finger enter him at the next thrust. His mind blanked for a moment as electric heat shot up his spine, his hands reflexively grabbing fistfuls of the white shirt. Slaine remembered to breathe when the feeling lessened to merely leave him trembling, pulse rushing in his ears.

“You definitely are,” he hissed, trying not to simply give into the urge to just ride those fingers until he reached completion.

“I’m making you feel good.”

“That’s–” Slaine voice broke on the word at a twist deep inside him, “not how–” He cut off with a loud cry when Inaho hit a spot that had him seeing stars.

“Here?”

Slaine could see Inaho had tilted his head, but there was no way he could answer, not with each thrust relentlessly aiming for the spot inside him. His gasps and moans were loud and lewd in his ears, but he couldn’t stop. He brought his hand up to muffle his voice, sunk his fangs into the back of it.

Inaho’s fingers left him so suddenly Slaine gave a surprised cry, leaving him clenching down on nothingness. His eyes fluttered open, instantly caught in the intent brown gaze. “I want to hear your voice,” Inaho said, pulling Slaine’s hand away from his mouth to press a kiss against his inner wrist. Slaine realized with a jolt that was the exact place he had fed from, mirrored on his own arm, and despite everything he felt his  face heat up in embarrassment; had he looked like that, reverent and pleased? “I want to hear you wanting me.”

He felt the press of Inaho’s hard length against his entrance, saw the tremors that ran along the lithe frame. It was heady, knowing that despite being spread out for Inaho, he was in control. Hot breath fanned across his skin.

“I want you,” Slaine breathed.

Inaho pinned his wrist to the wood by his head before tangling their hands together messily. His whine didn’t quite make it past his lips at the careful way Inaho pushed in, slow and measured. The brown eyes were still fixed intently on his face, and meeting that gaze was too much; he closed his eyes and let the push-pull of pleasure edged with pain wash over him instead, breathing quick and shallow as he tried to adjust to the new sensation.

His body was still trembling from all the stimulation when Inaho was fully seated. The hand slid up from his side up his chest, leaving a hot trail before cupping his jaw gently. “I’m going to move now.” Slaine nodded, not trusting his voice. “Relax, Slaine.”

It was the tone that did it, soft and warm, making him melt even before Inaho leaned down and kissed him. Inaho pulled out and then thrusted in slowly; so careful, for a monster that couldn’t even be killed. “I’m alright,” Slaine answered the unspoken question in a breathy voice that he hardly recognized. He watched Inaho’s head incline every so slightly before Inaho shifted to a faster pace.

The difference was instantaneous – Slaine opened his mouth and the noise that came out was obscene, but he couldn’t care.

His hand pulled at the back of Inaho’s undoubtedly ruined shirt while the other held onto Inaho’s hand as tightly as he dared. He couldn’t push back like this, legs spread with Inaho pinning him to the table. Every thrust sent the pistol and the knife clattering on the wood beside him, but he couldn’t hear the noise over his own keening and bit-off cries.

“Inaho,” he said like it was the only word he knew, “Inaho, _Inaho_ –” He met the brown eyes and wondered if it was the delirious heat flooding through him that made him see fondness and affection in that gaze. It was completely at odds with the way Inaho was pulling him apart at the seams, each shift of their bodies making his toes curl, fingers twisting into white fabric. He leaned up helplessly for open-mouthed kisses wherever he could reach – lips, jaw, neck, shoulder. He was burning. “ _Please_.”

“ _Slaine_.” His name was only a breathless whisper, but it was raw with need. Slaine felt the warmth coiling in his stomach shift into a heat that has him arching off the table as he came. The fingers of the hand on Inaho’s back clawed desperately for an anchor against the overwhelming sensation, the sound of tearing fabric rending the air alongside his cries.

Slaine laid there trembling and heaving as Inaho tensed above him, thrusting in deep and coming with a quiet moan right beside his ear. It made him shiver pleasantly, the tingling skittering more like a caress than the burning fire. For a moment, they simply caught their breaths, basking in the afterglow. Then a quiet laugh escaped him, and Inaho drew back to look at him.

He moved his hand over Inaho’s shoulder to cup the brunet’s face, gently guiding Inaho until their foreheads rested together. He lingered over the simple contact before nuzzling into a kiss, pressing the soft opening of his mouth against clever lips. With a small smile, Slaine pulled back. “You _are_ better at this than socializing.”

Inaho gave him a disgruntled look, only serving to make Slaine laugh again. He shook his head, and tugged Inaho forward so that he could soak up more of the intimacy.

 

↭

 

Slaine woke up to the unfamiliar feeling of warmth behind him, and he opened his eyes to a sparse room that wasn’t his. He turned his head and saw the mess of brown hair, the usually bland expression almost content in sleep. Tentatively he reached out to brush back the strands from Inaho’s face, a hot puff of breath hitting his wrist.

So warm, so _human_.

He snatched his hand back.

It was time he left before he overstayed his welcome. Slaine lingered, giving Inaho one last look before carefully levering himself up to his elbows. The sheet rolled off his chest, exposing his skin; he would have to gather his clothes. He turned to look at Inaho again, listening for a change to the quiet, even breathing. It stayed the same, and Slaine pushed aside his disappointment. It was better this way.

Just as his feet touched the floor, a warm arm snaked around his waist, and Slaine fell back with an undignified yelp. Inaho hovered over him, brown eyes watching him.

“A quiet exit?” Inaho asked, and Slaine couldn’t decipher the tone.

“I didn’t think you would want me here,” he replied quickly. His eyes caught on a kissmark high on Inaho’s neck, and he looked away, flushing.

“Then I wouldn’t have let you sleep here.” The statement was matter-of-fact, and Slaine half expected it to be accompanied by the usual shrug. “It’s already daytime, you won’t be able to leave now.”

“I’ll be fine.” It was a lie, and he was sure Inaho caught him in it.

“You’ll draw too much attention.”

“For the last time, I don’t _sparkle_ in the sunlight!” he said indignantly, pushing up so that he could lean into Inaho’s space. The brunet didn’t look the least intimidated.

“It doesn’t change the fact that you can’t leave.” Inaho watched him calmly, as if waiting for him to give up the argument, but Slaine stared stubbornly back. “It’s cold.”

Slaine had only the time to blink at the non sequitur before Inaho pulled him down onto the bed, tugging the sheets up around them. Inaho’s arm around his middle and the leg hooked over his couldn’t keep him, not physically, but Slaine found that he couldn’t find the will to untangle himself from the way Inaho curled into him.

His eyes fell onto Inaho’s hand beside his own, lying in the narrow space between them. The wounds from his fangs were stark against the vulnerable skin, neat pinpricks against the thin scars. He reached out with his left hand to ghost his fingers over it.

“The marks I left are gone.” Slaine’s eyes darted to Inaho’s face, taking in the quiet expression before flitting away, a new flush of heat creeping to his cheeks.

“I heal quickly,” he said quietly, moving to cover his neck, as if there were unseen, phantom marks left on his skin. He started when Inaho’s hand left the sheets to grasped his. Inaho leaned in, nuzzling against the spot he had wanted to hide.

“It just means I have more space to mark.”

Slaine quivered at the warm breath and ghosting lips. “Is this why you wanted me to stay?”

“It’s part of the reason,” Inaho answered without hesitation. The honesty made him laugh, and the brown eyes flicked up to look at him. Inaho pressed a soft kiss to his shoulder before shifting back onto the pillow. “But we have all day.”

He wasn’t used to this, to _any_ of it, and it was almost frightening; but Inaho only watched him calmly, neither pushing nor pulling, letting him decide. Slaine dropped his gaze, flitting from the mark on Inaho’s neck to the hand around his. Tentatively, he slipped his fingers in between Inaho’s, like he had remembered they had done the night before.

“Yes, we do.”

**Author's Note:**

> Additional thanks to trashbird Rei-chan for being my pillar of strength, Kai for being my second brain, and all you readers who have expressed interest and support for my writing!


End file.
